No Way Home
A Syrian family seeking asylum gets an
answer
By Aryn Baker |
Photographs by Lynsey Addario—Verbatim for TIME
Illham Alarabi is one of those indomitable women
who takes everything in stride. The kind of unflappable mother who can
single-handedly extract her oldest son from a squabble with a bully, soothe the
teething pains of another and bathe a baby, all while supper simmers on the
stove. Traveling 1,500 miles from her bombed-out village near Deir ez-Zor in Syria to Greece
was a hardship, to be sure, but she always comforted her family with faith that
they were headed for something better. Even life in squalid Greek refugee
camps, where she spent eight months pregnant with her fifth child, offered
opportunities to make friends, build communities and find something to laugh
about, whether it was the bad food or the midnight treks to the portable
toilets in the snow.
But after more than three years of relentless optimism, first as a refugee in Turkey, then again in Greece, she finally gave into despair one day in March. Slumped on a chair in a shabby hotel room in remote northern Greece, she watched her four oldest sons ricochet from bed to wall to floor and back again, barely missing the sleeping baby. Her oldest son Wael, 7, has never set foot in a school. He says he wants to be a teacher when he grows up, but he struggles to write even simple Arabic words, like baba, for father. gWe have been here [in Greece] for a year and two months,h says Illham with a sigh of defeat. gIf we had put these kids in school from the beginning, they would at least be reading Greek by now.h
Like the tens of thousands of other Syrian refugees that flooded across the Mediterranean and into Greece over the past two years, she and her husband Minhel Alsaleh had counted on being relocated elsewhere in Europe as part of an E.U. plan to redistribute the asylum seekers to lighten the burden on the countries at the front lines of Europefs migrant crisis. They are one of three families TIME is following as part of a yearlong project on the lives of babies born in Greecefs refugee camps. One family is on its way to Estonia. Another is still waiting to hear news of their future.
But doors across Europe are slamming shut.
Little more than 13,000 of Greecefs 27,000 refugees eligible for relocation in
Europe have been processed since October 2015, when the agreement first went
into effect. Itfs unlikely that the rest will be placed by the programfs end in
September 2017. Meanwhile upcoming elections in France and Germany—the two
countries that have taken in the largest number of Europefs refugees so
far—feature populist candidates stoking anti-migrant sentiment.
Yet the number of Syrians fleeing their country for refuge abroad continues to climb, reaching a new milestone in March: more than 5 million in Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan and Egypt, plus the 884,461 applying for asylum in Europe. As the war grinds on, with news of a major chemical bomb attack on the province of Idlib on April 4, there are likely to be even more. The number of refugees reaching Europe fell last year in the wake of an agreement between the E.U. and Turkey, but that deal is also at risk as tensions mount over Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoganfs crackdown on dissent.
Illham and Minhel did eventually receive a placement from the Greek Asylum Service, after a bewildering application process and months of interminable waiting. Despite the fact that both have family in Germany and put it at the top of their list of desired countries, in February they were matched with Lithuania—a seemingly arbitrary decision. They were not happy with the choice. gWhat kind of country has less than half the population of Aleppo?h mused Illham. gAnd has a woman for President?h said Minhel of the countryfs head of state Dalia Grybauskaite. In fact, he was more worried about Lithuaniafs poor economy and high unemployment rate. But at the same time they were relieved that their long journey in search of safety and stability seemed to be finally coming to an end. gI got Lithuania and it was bad, but at least it was a step forward,h says Minhel. gIt was better than nothing, and my children would finally get to go to school.h
The only thing standing between Greece and
their new life was a security interview at the Lithuanian embassy in Athens.
The interview was grueling, says Illham. They asked Minhel about his military service, and why he defected. (gI
didnft want to continue when the regime started shelling civilians, its own
people,h he says he answered.) They asked Illham if
she would continue to wear her headscarf and if she was a militant. (gI found
this to be a very silly question. How would I go fight when I have children?h
she says she responded.) Still, they had no reason to think they wouldnft pass.
On March 1, they were informed by the Greek
Asylum Service that Lithuania had rejected their application. Officials there
cited unspecified gsecurity reasonsh in their rejection letter, and there is no
chance for appeal. gItfs a big shock,h says Illham,
still reeling from the news. gI have headaches. My teeth, my eyes, my whole
body is hurting me.h
gWe have been waiting for so long,h Minhel adds. gAnd then to be rejected from a country we
didnft even want. Itfs painful.h
Both have gone over the interview in their
minds multiple times, trying to figure out what might have triggered the
rejection. Minhelfs military service was no different
from that of thousands of other Syrian applicants, he says. Indeed, his
defection puts him at even greater risk of persecution from the regime. But he
canft figure out what else it could have been.
Officially, the E.U. member nations committed to the relocation scheme can deny applicants only for reasons of national security and public order. So far across the E.U, 858 applicants have been rejected, or 7% of the total. But Lithuania has rejected 18% of applicants, according to the Greek Asylum Service. Lithuaniafs ambassador in Greece, Rolandas Kacinskas, would not speculate on the reasons for rejection, as he is not formally involved in the interviewing process. Still, he notes that his country, like many others, only wants refugees genuinely committed to staying, not ones simply waiting to take advantage of liberal E.U. travel laws to search for work in wealthier nations like Germany. Itfs a fact, he says, that not all the refugees granted asylum in Lithuania stay. gYou can tell the people who are looking for the economic opportunities from the people who are genuinely interested in integrating and settling in Lithuania. Our goal is not to take a person knowing that next day he will run from the country.h
Minhel admits that he did little to convince the Lithuanians that he was
enthusiastic about moving there. But itfs unfair, he argues, to push refugees
into countries they know nothing about, when their lives are already so laden
with uncertainty. Of course they want to go to countries where they have
family, and where other refugees have made a success out of exile. Syrians may
be running from war, but they are also running toward hope. Not just hope for
security, but hope for a better future, for them and for their children.
Still, there is a silver lining to the
rejection, says Minhel. He can now apply for asylum
in Greece, a country that, despite its crumbling economy, has warmly welcomed
the refugees and has seen little of the anti-migrant rhetoric and violence
apparent elsewhere in Europe. The countryside, he says, reminds him a lot of
his home back in Syria, where he was a farmer. gI have no problem to work here
as a shepherd, in agriculture, a driver of a tractor. I would do any work.
Europe is not going to pay you for not working. I want to live, I want to
provide money to my children and educate them.h
Even Illham
brightens at the prospect of a life in Greece. It may be difficult, but at
least it provides a direction, and the chance of building a home for her
family. But in doing so her relentless optimism is likely to be tested like
never before.
—With reporting by Mohammed Fareej/Thessaloniki
Continued reporting for this project is supported by a grant from the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting